


Trout Heart Replica

by timeforsomethrillingheroics



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: F/M, basically this stems from me watching 6.02 and going someone for the love of god save Juice, canon divergent from 6.02 on, set a month or so after 6.02
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-27 12:31:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeforsomethrillingheroics/pseuds/timeforsomethrillingheroics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Let me get my med kit” Tara said, trying very hard not to think about how if that bullet had been another inch to the right it would have hit his carotid - and how at that moment it didn’t really look like Juice cared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Basically I just want Juice and Tara to get the fuck out of Charming and not be broken or dead. I honestly don't feel like that's too much to ask, but here we are. 
> 
> Blame tumblr user [bobbymunson](http://bobbymunson.tumblr.com). She made me ship the thing.
> 
> Title is taken from [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rvbwia6OOkU) song by Amanda Palmer.
> 
> Beta read by the lovely and fantastic [Rachel](http://tigtragr.tumblr.com). As always, all mistakes are my own. Comments (negative or positive) would be greatly appreciated.

i. 

Tara opened the off-white door with a gentle nudge from her hip, letting a strip of warm, yellow light illuminate the dark room. Squinting, she could just make out the corner of a tightly folded sheet in the dim glow that was leaking in from the hallway. She paused for a moment in the doorframe, silently looking across the room at the neatly made bed before reaching out a hand and closing the cracked door with a muted inhale of air.

She didn’t know why, after everything, she was still half expecting Jax to be waiting for her on the other side of that empty room – sound asleep and spread wide across the bed, taking up every available inch of space or lying with his back against the headboard, an easy grin stretching across his lips as he watched her move in the doorway and a murmured ‘hey baby’ at the tip of his tongue.

She should be more than used to this by now.

It had been more than a month since she’d gotten released on bail.

More than a month of carefully controlled glances and strained smiles. More than a month of polite, forced tones and tiptoed footfalls. More than a month of muted calls with Lowen, discussing her last out. More than a month of forcing herself to act like everything was fine. More than a month of Jackson coming home later and later each night until half the time he wasn’t coming home at all. More than a month of fortifying herself for what was to come. Examining and reexamining every option. Planning for every possibility. Putting her emotions in a reinforced steel box and snapping the lid shut.

And yet – here she was. Still checking that closed door.

Tara tilted her head, mouth pulled at the corners in an angry grimace. She needed her emotions centered for what was to come. It wouldn’t do to have even the tiniest piece of her heart hoping for another outcome. To have even a sliver of herself looking for some miracle to jump down from on high and stop her from having to leave the only person she’d ever loved. It wouldn’t do at all. Because she was leaving. Because this wasn’t just about her. And any second guesses or hesitations wouldn’t just cost her. They would cost her children.

And that was her hard line.

She might have stayed, despite everything, if it weren’t for Thomas and Able. But if she couldn’t be strong for herself, she sure as shit could do it for them. They deserved to have at least one person in their lives fighting to get them out of this cesspool of a town. Fighting to give them something more. A better future.

She gave her shirt a firm tug with the hand that was still wrapped in an ace bandage, straightening it where it had bunched slightly and let a measured breath of air slide into her lungs. 

No use feeling sorry for herself. She had things to do before the night was done.

Straightening her back in a smooth, controlled motion - as if rolling off the worries permanently settled along her spine, Tara walked noiselessly back down the hall. She paused for a moment outside her son’s room before moving forward, her footsteps echoing hollowly against the hardwood.

Anita had left half an hour ago, right after Tara had stepped in the door and carelessly tossed heaping bags of groceries on the kitchen counter. The entire house seemed like it was holding its breath now – waiting in mute silence for something terrible to happen. What, Tara didn’t know. Maybe she just wasn’t used to the quiet. She almost wanted something awful to happen - something to justify the uneasiness that was rolling down her gut and making her palms slick with sweat.

Each sound she made seemed to reverberate though the empty rooms she passed, bouncing off walls and returning muted - as if stolen away by some invisible force.

When she reached the kitchen she turned the tap on cold and let the water run steadily, using the white noise to dull her senses as she methodically opened up brown grocery bags and started placing things in the pantry with the type of thoughtless precision that only came with practice. It wasn’t that late – maybe 7:30 or 8, but it felt closer to midnight. Like she should have been asleep in bed hours ago, not just now getting home.

She was half way through the last bag when she heard a gentle knock and felt something like relief course through her bloodstream.

Too quiet for Jax she decided, quickly putting the can gripped in her hand on the top shelf with the others. Whoever was at the front door paused for a moment and then knocked again, almost hesitantly. She put the nearly empty bag she had been holding on the counter top and walked to the front door, cracking it inward without removing the chain. She glanced at the cut before tracing her eyes up to the other mans face. 

“Jax sent me to drop some stuff off” he said unnecessarily, keeping his eyes glued to the large box that was cradled to his chest. 

She nodded, saying “Thanks Juice” with a overly bright smile before shutting the door and sliding off the chain in a smooth motion.

Opening the door wide she stepped aside and watched as he stepped forward into the front hall and then hesitated awkwardly, as if unsure what to do with himself once inside. 

“You can put whatever it is on the counter” she said with a small nod towards the kitchen.

“Okay,” he replied in the same flat voice he had used before and headed into the interior of the house. 

Tara looked quizzically at his retreating back before heading in the same direction. He looked different than she remembered. Harder somehow. She wondered if everyone in the club was now carrying the weight of the life on their shoulders like that. Becoming brittle. She had thought it was just Jax, and that it was just when he was around her - but seeing the way Juice’s shoulders hunched made her wonder. She hadn’t seen anyone tied to the club besides Gemma, her husband and Lowen in over a month. She hadn’t asked about club business in longer than that.

She didn’t want to know.

It should have made what she had to do easier - knowing all the awful things that her husband was still a part of, but it didn’t. It still felt like a punch to the gut every time she washed dried blood out of his clothes or saw a sickly yellow bruise bloom and then retreat over his exposed skin.

As she watched Juice gently place the box on the counter and then nod politely at her before mutely walking back the way he had come she realized why something felt off about him.

He hadn’t smiled once in short time he was there.

Not even while saying goodbye.

Tara glanced at the large box now sitting innocuously on the marble top counter and then turned away, a small but clear sense of nagging guilt eating away at her abdomen.

Repeating to herself that what she was doing was necessary, Tara moved the box as far away from herself as possible and avoided looking at it for the rest of the evening.

When she heard Jax crawl stiffly into bed long after the lights were off she didn’t ask about it. Instead, she forced her breath to even and rolled quietly on her side - keeping her eyes shut and her face angled away from him.

She didn’t want to know what was inside.

ii.

The next time she saw Juice it was a couple weeks before her trail (if it didn’t get pushed back for the third time) and a couple months later.

She was alone in the house again, but this time instead of a gentle knock in warning, the door burst violently inward - propelling Jax and a half-conscious Juice through the threshold.

Her husband hoisted the younger man up, arm looped tightly against his ribs. He ignored the way little droplets of blood were splattering against the white tile floor and moved him quickly towards the living room.

Tara remained motionless, gripping a cold glass of water tightly in her fist until the sound shattering glass ripped her back to the present. She looked down, her eyes tracing to the broken shards at her feet and the steadily spreading pool of damp and then back up again to the couch where Juice was now sprawled, deathly pale and listing on his side. Jax was leaned over him, crouched on the balls of his feet – their foreheads were almost touching they were so close. She could hear the muted sound of his voice rising and falling but he was talking too quietly to make out individual words.

From where she was frozen Tara watched him place gentle kiss onto Juice’s cheek before surging silently to his feet and saying “You did good brother” into the still air.

Tara could feel herself distantly wondering when the last time he had placed a kiss with that much genuine affection on any part of her body and immediately felt a swift surge of guilt tear through the numbness that was surrounding her like a cocoon. That more than anything propelled her into action. She moved swiftly into the living room as Jax was leaving it. He said ‘fix him, I have to finish this’ over his shoulder as he sprinted out of the door.

The screen banged loudly shut for the second time, leaving silence in its wake. 

“Finish what?” Tara asked as the distant rumble of a motorcycle starting filtered in through the open window; more because it was something you were expected to ask, and less because she genuinely wanted to know.

Standing over Juice, evaluating the amount of blood that was caking that plain white tee-shirt he was wearing, Tara felt the doctor persona she carried like a shield slip over her like a cloak. She wondered why he wasn’t wearing his cut, but the thought was a distant one. Something to be evaluated later, when she wasn’t preparing for surgery.

It had been months since she’d donned this particular set of armor but it still fit her like a glove. She gently rotated Juice’s head to the side to get a better look at the bullet hole that was sluggishly oozing red down his front. He was ridged as a store mannequin, only turning with the force of her grip. 

“Can you maintain pressure here?” she asked in an even voice, gripping his hand with her own and moved both of them to the vulnerable place where his neck met his shoulder, feeling blood squelched up through their fingers as she pressed firmly down. The unfocused look on his face didn’t alter as she increased the pressure.

“I got it” he said, glazed eyes trained on the wall opposite of them.

“Are you hit anywhere else?” Tara asked as she rose, slightly unsteady on her feet.

“Don’t think so” Juice replied in a detached voice, hand clamped exactly where she had left it.

“Is the bullet still in?” she asked in the same clinical tone, feeling the first hint of hysteria clawing at her throat. She pushed it ruthlessly back down.

“Probably” came the reply from down in the couch cushions.

“Let me get my med kit” Tara said, trying very hard not to think about how if that bullet had been another inch to the right it would have hit his Carotid - and how at that moment it didn’t really look like Juice cared.

\- - - 

It took her 20 minutes to fish out the slug because of her hand and another 10 to disinfect and stitch it up. Juice stared blankly at the wall the entire time - only wincing when her bad hand slipped and she pushed the bullet deeper into his flesh.

Once she was finished Tara looked down at his now ruined shirt for the first time since putting on her surgical gloves, taking in how blood had managed to pool in the tops of his jeans and asked if he felt alright enough to take a shower. His lips jerked up in a crude intimidation of his regular smile before he replied with “It’s fine - took the cut off before. Didn’t want it to get dirty.”

“You knew you were going to get shot?” Tara asked before she could think about it, the words sounding harsh and foreign to her own ears.

Juice gave a shrug, seeming oblivious to the fact that the once white gauze was stretched across his left shoulder and was getting redder by the minute. His eyes looked dead as glass.

“I’ll turn the shower on” Tara said after a moment of tense silence, eyes trained on Juice’s empty face and lips working to remain neutral. He just nodded his assent, his head bobbing up and down in a single jerky motion, normally tan face pale with blood loss.

Tara got up before she could do something stupid. Like ask if Jax told him it was necessary – if he had said it was for the good of the club. Or put her hand through a wall.

Once she got into the bathroom Tara lost her composure. It started when she went to turn on the tap and realized her hands were shaking with rage. Hard enough that when she finally managed to twist the water to warm her entire arm was soaked for the effort. The kiss she had witnessed before didn’t seem so genuine now. It seemed calculated. Controlled. Manipulative. She’d been doing enough of that herself the last three months to know what to look for. And Jax had always been his mothers son.

She spent longer in the bathroom than she ought to, unclenching her tightened fists and wiping her face clean of shock and rage – but when she got back Juice was still exactly where she left him, eyes trained on the wall.

“Can you stand?” she asked, brown eyes glued to the little patch of red and white just above his collar. Juice nodded but didn’t try and get up. He looked borderline catatonic.

Tara took a penlight out of her bag and then crouched down to his level, saying ‘follow the light please’ as she traced a straight line from eye to eye. His pupils contracted correctly but it took him longer than it should to trace the path the small light made with his eyes. 

‘Shock then’ Tara thought with a sigh before giving a quick nod and muttering ‘okay’ under her breath. 

She ended up half pulling him, half dragging him to the bathroom and dumping him in the tub. He sat exactly where she put him, eyes unfocused and blank. She hovered for a moment, looking at the way his body was tremoring, goose bumps making the skin on his arms pebble and his hair stand up straight.

Having two little boys has made her used to what came next. 

Tara stripped him with quick efficiency, manhandling him until everything was off but his boxers as Juice sat like an obedient doll, raising his arms when specified and staring mutely at the tap that was now spitting warm water into the open drain. She took care not to let her eyes linger on the myriad of still pink scars dotting along his ribcage or wonder at how they got there. She didn’t want to know. 

There was steam on the mirror by the time Tara was done. She glanced up at the shower head, debated shutting the curtain and letting gravity do the work before sighing, grabbing a washcloth from the table beside the sink and pushing Juice closer to the open tap. 

She spent close to 20 minutes trying to get all the blood off before giving up and scooting him all the way under the rushing water, stepping in the tub and rocking back on her heels as she dumped water over his head and tried to avoid the hem of her pants getting soaked. 

Blood was everywhere. On his hands, feet – running in little divots along his spine… Flecks of it even managed to get in Mohawk. She had a sneaking suspicion that it probably wasn’t all his, but she didn’t want confirmation. 

After she was finally satisfied he was clean she rotated him so he was facing her and gently peeled off the gauze that was wrapped around his collarbone. She methodically rechecked each stitch before grabbing a bottle of antiseptic and dabbing it across the entire area. 

When she decided she was content she applied a new patch of gauze, gently pressing down the edges with the tips of her fingers and then leaned back to survey her handy-work. “Not bad for a bum hand” she said, a hint of pride creeping into her voice. 

Juice still looked pale, but besides the glaringly white patch of cloth nestled where his shoulder and neck met he looked whole at least.

Tara creaked out of the tub, tossing Juice a towel before washing her hands up to her elbows in the sink. She glanced down at the bloody foot prints covering the bathroom floor and then over to the crumpled pile of clothes in the corner. ‘ _Trashed_ ’ she though with a small grimace, knowing firsthand how hard it is to get bloodstains out of fabric.

She was halfway through dumping the dirty clothes into the laundry basket when she glanced back over at Juice and realized he hadn’t moved from when she tossed the towel in his general direction. 

It was half-on half-off his knee, with the corner trailing sadly in floor of the bathtub; soaking water up like a sponge. 

Sighing Tara crossed back over to where he was and gently hauled him to his feet. It didn’t take much effort. Once he realized what she was trying to do he followed her lead. He didn’t bother to grip the towel though and it fell limply to the bathroom floor. 

Tara deftly grabbed another one and dried him quickly, acting like he was a much larger version of her toddler. 

“How’d you get here?” she asked as she scrubbed the towel roughly once through his short hair. 

“Jax” he responded, eyes trained carefully away from her face. 

“You have anywhere you’d rather be?” Tara asked, keeping her own eyes trained on the small scar cutting through his eyebrow and moving on to dry his left shoulder.

He shrugged in response. “Club house I guess” he replied slowly, an unnamed emotion flicking across his face for the first time that night. It looked suspiciously like fear. 

Tara kept silent for a moment, mutely debating with herself as she motioned for him to lift his arm and wrapped the towel high around his chest and then pinned there with both of his arms. 

He was still studiously looking at her shoulder, avoiding anything remotely near her face.

“Dry off the rest of the way while I find some extra clothes” she said softly as she stepped away from him and towards the bathroom door, avoiding thinking about the fact that out of anywhere in the world, the only place he knew to go after he got shot was the place that was responsible for the bullet hole.

As she walked to the closet to pick out Jax’s nicest pair of pajama bottoms and favorite T-shirt (she never claimed not to be vindictive), she decided he could have the bed and she’d take the couch. She didn’t think Jax was coming back that night - and if he was? Well. Fuck him. 

She’d take the couch and he could take the floor. 

She took her time spreading clean sheets over the bed, trying to give Juice a little space to center himself. She peaked in on her kids on the way back, smiling softly down at Thomas and gently wiping the bangs off his forehead before moving on. 

She knocked on the bathroom door softly, heard a wooden “come in” before cracking open the door and sliding into the steam of the bathroom. Juice was in the exact same spot she had left him, dripping water and a faint line of blood onto the bathroom rug, towel still wrapped firmly around his chest. 

Tara figured that was probably as good as it was going to get.

“Don’t really feel like driving if that’s okay with you” she said, focusing on the wall passed his shoulder, ignoring the blooming black bruises around his eye that trailed down his side until they were covered with plushy white fabric. “Besides, better for you to be here in case something happens with your stitches. I can check on you in a couple hours to make sure there isn’t any additional bleeding.” 

He gave her a jerky nod in response, a look that could have been gratefulness passing over his face.

She handed him the clothes so she didn’t need to say anything else and then pointedly turned around. “Wait on the shirt” she said over her shoulder. “I’m probably going to need to rewrap your shoulder.”

She focused on taking out the gauze again as she heard the rustling of clothes behind her. 

She patched him up quickly and efficiently, and then lead him into the bedroom. He immediately looked uncomfortable, shifting on his feet, edging back towards the door. Tara just shrugged and said “I’ll be out on the couch. Pretty sure doctors orders are bed rest” and shut the door before he could open his mouth to protest. 

She felt vaguely guilty about leaving him alone for all of five seconds before she decided she’s been a mom too long and he’s a grown biker and can probably handle himself.

She then settled down on the couch and read until she fell asleep.

Jax didn’t come home.

\---

At about four in the morning Tara blinked awake to Juice quietly trying to slip out the back door.

“Where are you going?” she asked, sitting up and rubbing sleep out of her eyes.

“Clubhouse” Juice replied, at least having the decency to look slightly sheepish about it. 

“And how were you planning on getting there?” she questioned in a more alert voice, stretching wide, the cracking of her spine sounding overly loud in the quiet of the still house.

“Walking?” Juice answered, studiously looking at the ground. 

“At –“ Tara tapped the screen of her cellphone and then continued “3:56 in the morning?” 

Juice didn’t look numb anymore. He looked jittery. On the edge of panic. 

“Why not wait ‘till the morning?” Tara asked, eyes intent on his face. 

“I can’t-” Juice shrugged helplessly, jerking his head to the side as if he had tried to meet her eyes but then thought better of it at the last second. “I don’t like being alone very much.” He finished awkwardly, as if each word was physically costing him something.

“Who’s at the club house?” Tara asked, now the one that was studiously looking at the floor.

“Maybe no one” he replied. The ‘but maybe-‘ was left hanging unsaid in the air. Tara didn't ask why he was raring to go somewhere that just under five hours ago he had been terrified of. She got that. That had been her reality for the last 4 years. She just blinked tiredly and then patted the couch next to her, pulling the blanket aside and glaring until he crawled in. 

They didn’t say anything else that night. No parts of their bodies touched. He fell asleep first. Scooched as far away from her as humanly possible on the small couch, crunched into the opposite arm rest, arms wrapped tightly around his chest. Tara fell asleep later, curled cat like into the cushion – but not before she tightly wrapped the comforter she had been using to keep herself warm around Juice's limp frame.

He was gone by the time she woke up, and the comforter was once again wrapped around her shoulders.

She hadn’t expected anything less. 

When Jax finally came home she didn’t ask about Juice. He looked exhausted and Tara found she didn’t care. She didn’t want to know why.

She didn’t want to know anything about him.


	2. Chapter 2

Tara saw a lot of Juice after that. Jax started sending him over instead of Gemma when she needed to go shopping or get out of the house. Played interference, told Gemma to give her space to breathe.

Juice turned into a constant. Something that was assumed. There before she woke up and there long after she went to bed, doing everything from changing Thomas’ diapers to standing watch into the early morning. She could never tell if he was sent as a bodyguard or a baby sitter. Either way, she knew Jax was trying to make amends. Trying to make her more comfortable. 

Trying to fix what was broken between them.

And that’s how she knew she had slipped somehow. Made it apparent she wasn’t happy. That she had given him something to be concerned about.

Tara focused on the fact that she was filing as soon as her court date was done when she did what was necessary to rectify her mistake.

Repeated ‘they are getting _out_ ’ silently to herself, with a kind of intensity that was usually reserved for people in a religious fervor every time she forced a smile to crinkle up the corners of her mouth as she kissed him goodbye. 

Closed her eyes and centered on Lowen’s last visit while Jax’s fist clutched her hair and he moved rhythmically over her. Thought about last version of Wendy’s custody agreement, tried to visualize each word – reminded herself that she had contingencies in place, no matter what happened.

She loved Jax, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew exactly what he was capable of. And taking his boys away? Well, she didn’t even want to think about the fall out if he found out what she was planning.

It would make what he did to Wendy look like he had been wearing kid gloves.

\- - - 

They didn’t talk about Juice’s healing bullet wound or what happened that night - even when Tara took out the stitches a week later, steady eyes looking over red puckered flesh, searching for signs of infection.

They didn’t talk about it when Juice started coming over when Jax didn't request it either.

Or how Juice had looked sheepishly at the floor the first time it happened, like he was waiting for Tara to change her mind – ask him what he was doing in her house. Decide he was a bad influence. Kick him to the curb.

They especially didn’t talk about how Tara had pulled him into a solitary hug, brief but tight before going into her son’s room, picking up Thomas and depositing him into Juice’s arms before leaving that day.

They didn’t talk about much really, Tara thought to herself. But she found that she didn’t seem to mind.

Most of the time when he was over Tara was poring quietly over legal documents, checking and rechecking her notes. Rehearsing her testimony. Securing every detail. She could hear faint laughter coming from the living room sometimes though, and the low murmur of voices.

If she strained she could just make out words. Juice trying to teach Able the alphabet. Taking requests for lunch. Bandaging scrapes and bruises with a hurried whisper of ‘what your mother doesn’t know won’t kill her.’

Sometimes Abel would run into her room, cheeks ruddy with excitement and teeth flashing as he showed her a drawing Juice helped him with, or a new hot rod Juice had snuck in his cereal as a prize.

It was times like these Tara studiously avoided thinking about the last time Jax actually sat down with his children or checked over his sons’ homework.

It was times like these that Tara locked her emotions in a steel box and pushed them to the furthest recesses of her mind, only opening them back up when she was alone again and safe.

It was times like these Tara tried not to think about anything at all.

\- - - 

There were bad days too, though.

Sometimes Juice didn’t show up at all and Gemma would come instead, or Tara would watch the boys alone - a little voice in the back of her head that sounded suspiciously like panic whispering ‘please be okay.’

Sometimes he’d come staggering in the door late in the night, Jax dropping him mutely on the couch before heading back into the darkness and Tara would silently patch him up when she woke up the next morning, eyes trained on the bruises marking his skin or the way his hands clenched silently in his lap but never on his face.

She started sleeping lighter, so she’d hear the muted fumbles of someone sneaking through the house in the black, because Juice would never wake her.

No matter how bad it was he’d always wait ‘till morning.

On these nights Tara’s sure that if he had any other option - if Jax wasn’t leading him by the scruff of the neck, if had had literally anywhere else to go; that’s where he’d be.

Afterwards he’d be mute and withdrawn for a couple of days. His dead fish eyes would come back, empty as glass.

Tara would leave him alone until he’d been around Abel and Thomas long enough that he could smile without it looking like it hurt. That it didn’t look like her presence was costing him something physical. Long enough that he could meet her eyes again without quickly scurrying his gaze away.

One day she asked ‘Do you love him?’ while she was patching an ugly knife wound that ran diagonally across his bicep, but she never asked why he kept doing it.

Juice didn’t bother to ask who she was talking about or why she was asking. Just answered ‘always’ in a voice that dripped sincerity, like it was the most obvious thing in the world - with so much bleak honesty on his face that it made her feel like her heart was being ripped out of her chest.

“Don’t you?”

Tara didn’t answer.

\- - - 

The fourth time her court date was pushed back Tara finally asked the question.

“Why do you - why do all of this for him?” 

she waved her arms vaguely, as if to encompass everything that remained unspoken in the room.

She didn’t say he wasn’t worth it, but the sentiment was left hanging heavy in the air.

Juice smiled and responded quietly, with such brutal belief in his voice that Tara’s breath caught.

“Because I deserve it.”

He paused for a moment, as if trying to put it in a way that she would be able to comprehend, before giving up and adding, “because what I’m doing is necessary. And I don’t know how to do anything else.”

Juice smiled at her then, blank eyes focused somewhere on her cheek and then stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets. He said, “I’m all patched up doc. I’ll see you tomorrow.” before walking from the room.

Tara sat for a moment, paralyzed on the love seat – hands still clutching the toy Juice had given her a moment before, fixed from where Abel had accidentally stepped on it, before rising on shaking legs and sprinting towards the front door.

She ended up almost tripping over him in her mad dash for the driveway.

He was crouched on the bottom step, shoulders hunched, a hand running roughly over the stubble of his Mohawk, his knees planted firmly in front of him, left foot jiggling at an off beat tempo.

She stood behind him, panting awkwardly with her hands braced on her knees – unsure of what to do now that she was sure she had caught him.

He twisted around and gazed up at her for a moment, an unreadable emotion pooling darkly in his eyes before standing up and shoving his hands in the pockets of the cammo pants that were slung low on his hips.

He wasn’t looking at her, but at least they were near the same level now. 

She straightened up awkwardly, all too aware of how the chopped ends of her dark hair must be sticking out at odd angles from her hurried flight outside. 

She swiped her hair back impatiently before saying ‘Come here,’ and reaching out an arm to pull Juice’s head down to hers so they were eye to eye.

“Look at me,” she said firmly, taking a hand and nudging his cheek so there faces were parallel.

“You’re a good person.” She jerked the side of his face back to hers when he snorted awkwardly and tried to turn away. 

“ _Look at me_.”

She paused, eyes boring into his. “You are a good person,” she repeated, refusing to let him avoid her gaze. His eyes softened a little, the corners turning up as the barest hint of a smile touched his lips.

She leaned in, hands coming to rest on either side of his face as she turned his cheek, gently this time, and placed a small kiss on the side of his face. He stiffened for a second before melting slowly forward - letting his forehead rest against the crook of her neck and letting out a slow shuddery breath, his arms coming up to circle her waist and squeeze her tight, like he was afraid if he let go she’d disappear. 

He stood like that for a moment, pressed rigidly against her collarbone before taking another long, shaking inhale and then carefully extracting himself.

“I’m glad you think so doc,” he said with a sad little smile. “But I’m really not,” before turning and walking down the street.

Tara stood on the porch long after he had walked out of sight, hand unconsciously fingering where his nose had pressed into her skin, eyes staring blankly down the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know things are a little OOC, but fluff normally is so I hope you'll bear with me!
> 
> Sorry this chapter is a bit shorter than the last! I'll try to make it up to you guys next time, scouts honor :)
> 
> Comments (positive or negative) are always appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

Tara didn’t see Juice for more than a week after he left her standing mutely on the porch.

After the first three days of no contact she expected him to slink in the front door in the early morning light, bearing two cups of steaming hot coffee in silent apology - or to come stumbling in the kitchen in the mid-afternoon, holding a set of brightly colored packages under his arm for the boys (who had been asking about him with increasing frequency), making hesitant eye contact before setting them down on the counter and shrugging his shoulders at her awkwardly; saying ‘forgive me’ without ever uttering the words.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew he wouldn’t want to talk about it. But she had thought she – they, had meant more to him than this. That she would have gotten more than one time to mess up, more than one time to push too hard before Juice slipped out of their lives as quietly as he had come.

Three days was long enough she thought.

Three days was the perfect amount of time for awkwardness to subside and any feathers she had ruffled to smooth over.

But every morning she woke up, went about her day and was disappointed.

\- - - 

The fact was, Tara didn’t really have friends.

She didn’t have people she trusted or wanted to spend time with outside of the club and her husband.

She had Margaret Murphy, her old boss and guiding instrument in believing getting out was possible, Ally Lowen, her lawyer and Wendy Case - her last hope in keeping her boys safe.

Juice was the first person, in longer than she cared to think about, that she saw solely because she wanted to. 

That she interacted with with no selfish motivation behind. 

That she wasn’t required to manipulate or lie to.

Tara decided to ignore how sad it was that the only person in her life right now she was interacting with, with no other motivation than to be around them, was not only a part of the club that she was trying desperately to escape, but seemed, for all intensive purposes, to be her husband’s cleanup crew and focused on the fact that she did care what happened to him. And the fact that she wanted to hold onto this little sliver of normality as long as she could before she went to jail. 

It took her a week of picking up her cell, glaring angrily down at the screen and then shoving it violently back in her pocket again before she broke down and looked up his name in the phone book. They had never exchanged numbers. There had never been a need to. He had always called the house phone whenever he was stopping by. She could have asked Jax, but every fiber in her being rebelled against that idea. A small but insistent voice inside her head screamed ‘danger’ at her every time she kissed her husband goodbye in the morning with the question hesitating on the tip of her tongue, and she listened. She didn’t know why her gut told her that it was a bad idea, only that it was. She told herself she didn’t want to tie Jax into Juice’s life any more than he already was a part of it, but she knew that wasn’t all - or even most of it. She tried not to look or listen to that little sly voice whispering in the back of her head too hard or too long, saying ‘you know exactly why it’s a bad idea’, for fear of what she might find.

She would have stopped by his house when he didn’t answer the phone, but his address wasn’t listed in the phonebook.

It made sense that it wasn’t. She knew hers wasn’t either. 

She doubted any of the club members were.

She settled on going to the garage (she refused to call it the club house. She didn’t really know why – only that it felt like a small victory if she thought about it in her own terms. Like she was still avoiding club life if it was just another auto repair shop and not the place her husband ruled the redwood charter) for the first time in over two months after the sixth phone call went directly to voicemail and she left her first message – her tone forced to neutral as she recited “I’m going to keep calling until you tell me to stop. The boys miss you.” and then hung up with a quiet click.

Once she had decided on a course of action the rest was easy. She had always been like that though. Over thinking every detail – questioning and reexamining every facet of something until she was in the thick of it. Then she was action and reaction, trusting her body to remember what to do. In surgery it was all about precise, cold logic and muscle memory. She used to think maybe it came from being a doctor - that need to over think and look over every possible piece of information until it was time to act, but recently she’s decided that maybe she wanted to become a surgeon because of that part of herself. That constant questioning anxiety mixed with the relief that filled her entire body when she was finally _doing_ something.

Once she had decided she needed to talk to Juice that was it. She was going to talk to him. It didn’t matter that finding him meant going to the place she had avoided thinking about for the last six months, or seeing people she never wanted to interact with again.

If Juice didn’t want to talk to her, well. He could tell that to her face. She wasn’t settling for anything less.

She got Gemma to watch the boys when she left the house, forcing her face to light up in a grateful smile as she muttered something about needing groceries and swept quickly out the door – tossing out ‘I’ll be back in a couple hours’ over her shoulder as she stepped onto the sidewalk with a quick purpose that made her footfalls rapid and sure.

She deserved more after two months of growing friendship. After two months of patching up bullet holes and biting her tongue against the questions that were trying to worm their way out of her lips. 

She deserved to be told when her presence wasn’t appreciated at the bare minimum, Tara thought as she swung into the front car seat, clicking down seatbelt and letting the engine thrum to life beneath her - anxiety starting the slow transformation into anger.

\- - - 

Juice wasn’t there.

It took her 15 minutes of casually hanging on the swing set, telling a curious Unser she was waiting on her husband for her to give up completely. His bike wasn’t in the lot and his face was no where around the property.

Chibs was though.

She looked over at his bike calculatingly, hesitating on the swing set for a full minute before casually getting up with her arms spread out over her head in a long stretch and strolling into the club house.

She found him sitting at the bar alone - a half finished cigarette pressed between the fingers of one hand, trailing ash down the hardwood table, and an almost empty bottle resting next to the other. His eyes were half lidded when she walked in the door but they slid over her in a silent question when she hopped onto the bar stool next to him.

“Looking for Jackson” she said in response to his raised eyebrow.

He nodded, took a slow pull out of the neck of his beer and then responded with “Sorry doc, he’s out at Caracara today. Won’t be back till late. Surprised he didn’ tell yah.”

She noticed how his eyes focused just passed hers, giving the appearance of eye contact without the pesky byproduct of being able to tell when someone was uncomfortable or lying.

Unconsciously straightening her back she nodded mutely in response. She wanted to ask something stupid and irrational, like if he loved her – but the irony of asking something like that in her present situation wasn’t lost on her, and she knew better than to show her hand. Better to pretend she didn’t know what ‘at Caracara’ meant. Better to act like she trusted her husband implicitly. Better to show herself as gullible than strong.

Chibs gave her an apprising glance out of the corner of his eye before sliding a fresh beer towards her. 

She forced her lips to turn upwards as she raised the glass to her lips and said thanks around the rim of the bottle.

“It’s not that important anyways.” She said after a slow sip.

She’d always hated beer.

“What about Juice?” She asked after another minute of silence. “I could look at that rib fracture – since I’m already here. Didn’t see his bike outside though.” She forced her expression to remain casual as she let the end of her sentence trail up into a question mark and took another long pull of alcohol, feeling the golden liquid slide down her throat and warm her stomach.

“He’s not here either” Chibs said unnecessarily.

If Juice’s bike wasn’t here, he wasn’t around.

“Doesn’t seem like many people are” Tara agreed, keeping her fingers loose and her eyes trained on the bottle in front of her.

“So where’s Juice? Caracara with Jax?” she asked, keeping her voice light. Like she was talking about the weather. Making casual conversation until she finished her drink.

“Club business.” Chibs replied, staring down hard at the cigarette in his hand, flicker of what looked suspiciously like anger crossing over his face.

“Oh.” Tara said neutrally, figuring she probably was pushing her luck as it was.

“Hospital” Chibs said, unprompted into the silence. “Idiot went and got himself blown up.”

Tara wasn’t conscious of pushing her chair back but she was suddenly standing, so she must have.

“Is he alright?” she said into the silence, her voice sounding harsh and jagged to her own ears, full of sharp angles and broken glass.

She wasn’t aware of pressing a shaking hand over the lower half of her face, but she could feel the weight of it vibrating against her lower lip as she struggled to breathe.

“Sorry - Jesus, sorry doc” Chibs said hurriedly after a second of goggling up at her, standing up quickly and leading her back down to the bar stool. “Shouldn’ta sprung that on ya. Just figured – well, ya ain’t been around much. Didn’t – well, wasn’t thinkin’. ”

Tara couldn’t feel her feet. She could see her hand shaking where it was pressed white-knuckled against the table, but she couldn’t feel it either.

“He’s fine. Boy wouldn’t keel over if he got hit by a semi. Ratboy’s with him at tha hospital.” Chibs said into the silence, the anger seeming to seep out of his voice, leaving weariness in its place. “Ain’t exactly been a picnic these last couple o’ months.”

“Yeah,” Tara heard herself reply distantly. Her ears were filtering sound strangely. Making everything either much too loud or much too soft. 

“I have to go talk to Jackson” She said after a moment, her voice flat and terrible. 

“Let me drive you,” Chibs said, hurriedly standing as she pushed her chair back and started walking jerkily to the door.

“I’ll be fine,” she replied in the same terrible voice, not looking backwards as she let the door swing shut behind her and headed to the parking lot.

\- - - 

Chibs tried to yell something at her as she got in the car and slammed the door shut but she wasn’t listening.

She half expected him to try and follow her out, but he seemed to think better of it. She distantly wondered if he was calling Jax. Warning him that she was on her way.

It didn’t matter.

She wasn’t going to see her husband.

The parking lot of the hospital was crowded when she pulled in. Full of the dinner rush of visitors, trying to make it inside before visiting hours closed.

Tara parked in the faculty section, hopping out of the car practically before the tires had stopped moving.

Once she was inside the building she made a beeline for the front desk, ignoring the way two passing technicians looked at her as she passed. It wasn’t hard to block out the raised whispers that followed her to the receptionist. She didn’t care. She had more important things on her mind than her old co-workers.

“Juan Ortiz,” she said at the receptionist, crossing her arms and hugging them tightly against her chest.

“Visiting hours are almost over.” the old lady behind the desk replied. “You family?”

“Yes.” Tara replied shortly.

“He’s in room 204 sweetheart” the older woman said after a small pause, smiling sympathetically before turning back to the celebrity magazine that was spread across her desk.

“Thank you.” Tara said distantly as she moved quickly down the corridor.

When she opened the door tired brown eyes blinked up at her from across the room.

“Where’s Ratboy?” she asked after a moment of silence, hesitating in the doorframe before walking over to the end of the bed with small, uneven steps, picking up his chart on the way over. 

Juice coughed when he tried to reply, wincing and holding the left side of his ribs.

“Don’t tell me.” Tara said, voice angry brittle – eyes still trained on the chart clutched in her hands. “Club business.”

She could feel her hand shaking where she was clutching the papers in her fist so hard they wrinkled, but she found she didn’t seem to care.

Everything was distant and much too bright, and the ringing in her ears made it hard to focus.

“When Chibs was in the hospital they had someone on him night and day,” she said after a moment into the silence, eyes still blindly glued to the words in front of her. “He was so worried about being unprotected I ended up showing him how to fake a seizure so he could stay under my care.”

Juice didn’t reply.

She forced herself to put the chart down and look at the body lying next to her. With clinical doctors eyes she looked for visible damage – signs that what the chart had told her was correct.

She peeled down the blankets with a shaking hand, checking over gauze and sutures.

“You got off easy,” she said, anger and fear making her voice shake. “If you had stayed a moment –“

“I’m sorry.” Juice said, cutting her off mid sentence.

Tara set out a small exhale of air and sunk bonelessly into the chair beside the bed, all of the fight going out of her.

She braced her elbows on her knees and covered her face with her hands, letting out a muffled “I know” after a moment from behind stiff fingers.

“I know,” she repeated.

She could hear Juice shift across from her, but she waited until she could breathe again before removing her hands from her face.

“The boys miss you.” She said after an indefinite amount of time, eyes tracking up to his face for the first time since she walked through the door.

“Yeah?” he replied - the question in his voice making her heart hurt.

“Yeah.” She said with a small but genuine smile.

“That’s good.” Juice said, a smile unfurling to match hers. “Got scared there for a minute they’d forget about me.”

“Not likely.” Tara snorted with a small laugh that sounded suspiciously like a dry sob.

“Hey – hey, its alright. I’m fine.” Juice said hurriedly, trying to sit up and reach across to her. “Look, I’m fine. Just a couple of scrapes. You’ve patched up worse.” Tara let out a strangled laugh that sounded hysterical to even her own ears.

“Tara – _Tara_ , I’m okay. Look at me. I’m good. They have me rocking some high quality pain meds – I’m good.”

Tara blinked hard up at the ceiling for a moment before letting her eyes tail back over to Juice.

She glanced at him for a moment with a nonplussed expression on her face before squawking “What are you doing?” and lunging across the bed to push him back down. “You had two fractured ribs **before** the explosion, _sit down_ ” she said, her voice going low and dangerous.

He raised his hands in mock surrender and said “Alright, alright.” in a meek voice, sinking back into the pillows.

She sighed, reaching up a hand to gently trace over the raised skin beside his left eye. “I don’t know if anyone’s told you yet, but you look awful” she said, carefully turning his face to the side and wincing at the discoloration and raised skin. “What were you avoiding?” she said after a small pause where her eyes took in the neat stitches going through his cheek. “A land mine? This looks like a shrapnel wound.”

If she hadn’t had her thumb and forefinger holding his face in place she wouldn’t of felt the small wince or seen the way his eyes went momentarily dead. “… It wasn’t a mine, right?” she asked after a moment, eyebrows wrinkled up in concern.

"Nope. Not a landmine." said Juice after a small pause, his eyes carefully trained on the opposite wall.

Tara knew when to leave well enough alone and changed the subject accordingly.

"You’re lucky, but you might want to see a plastic surgeon about the cuts over your eyebrow." she said before gently patting the side of his jaw that wasn’t bruised and letting go of his face.

"Nah," he said, eyes now trained on the blanket in front of him but a half sided smile making his lips turn up. "No health insurance. Besides - someone told me once girls dig scars."

Tara snorted before sitting gently down on the bed, being careful to avoid jostling any part of Juice.

They sat like that for an indefinite amount of time, both staring at the T.V. that was sitting on the opposite wall. Tara vaguely wondered if he had chosen Looney Tunes himself or if it had just been the channel the T.V had been set to when he clicked it on.

After the second rerun of Bugs Bunny Tara said “So are we going to talk about you avoiding me for the last week?” with her eyes still glued to the scene that was playing out in front of her - looking utterly engrossed in chase that was roaring across the screen.

"I’ll give you a pass for the last couple of days - but these stitches haven’t been in long enough for me to give you any more than that." she said, keeping her eyes trained on the television.

"Can we just call it temporary insanity and forget it ever happened?" Juice asked in cheerful voice that was fake as plastic. Tara wasn’t looking at his face, but if she had been she would bet that his eyes were trained on the T.V also. She could just make out his right hand out of the corner of her eye, clenched on the bed sheet.

"Probably not." She replied neutrally, keeping her tone just as light has his had been.

"I just needed…" he trailed off and Tara watched his fist clench tighter around the white comforter. “I just needed some breathing room.” He finished weakly.

"From me?" She asked as she turned around and trapped his eyes with her own.

"Yes -" Juice said before getting a good look at her facial expression and then quickly saying "I mean no." and then muttering "fuck" quietly under his breath and looking up at the ceiling, as if praying for strength.

"I’m just not -" he paused and seemed to be searching for the right words before giving up and saying "I’m not good at this."

"At what?" Tara asked, frowning in confusion.

"At being a part of things" Juice said awkwardly.

"That’s a crappy excuse." Tara said - trying and failing to trap his eyes with her own. He was studiously looking down at his clenching and unclenching fist.

"Yeah well," Juice said, shrugging his shoulders and then wincing when the movement jostled his ribs.

"By crappy excuse I mean you need a better one," Tara pressed.

Juice sighed and then looked up at the ceiling as if to ask why it hadn’t lent him aid yet.

Tara waited him out, watching the way his hands moved in increasingly agitated circles over each other.

Juice finally opened his mouth and angrily jumbled out, “I mean what was I supposed to do when I realized I was falling in love with my-” and then froze, horrified.

Tara could feel her insides turn to ice, but kept her face calm and playful. “Should have known it was over some girl,” she got out with a smile, saying “You bikers are all the same,” in a teasing voice.

Of course it was over a crow eater. She couldn’t believe how stupid she had been, to think that it was because of her. That she could have impacted him enough to make her want to avoid the her and the kids just because she had asked one question when nothing else she had ever asked or done had made him run.

"At least tell me she’s nice," she said after a moment, working to keep her smile in place.

Juice paused for a second, something that looked a lot like relief passing over his face before a sad but brilliant smile lit up the corners of his mouth and he replied “She’s the nicest person I’ve ever met.”

"You’ll get her in the end then." Tara said, trying and failing to grin back.

Juices grin faded to a shadow. “Somehow I don’t think so.” he said, eyes looking out distantly for a moment before seeming to bring himself back to the present.

"Don’t sell yourself short," Tara said, working to meet his eyes and trying for a genuine smile.

"Well. Now that I know your alive, I guess I’ll let you rest. I kind of told them we were family to get in after visiting hours." she said after a awkward pause, the same fake grin plastered over her face. "I’ll be coming by to check on you tomorrow though, to make sure the doctors know what they’re doing."

As she got up to leave Juice seemed to be wrestling silently with himself. Tara gave an awkward little half wave and focused on getting out of the room as quickly as possible with out it looking like she was trying to escape.

She was at the doorframe when she heard a quiet voice behind her say “Stay?”

She hovered by the doorframe for a moment before the voice added “Just for a little while?”

Tara nodded silently, still facing the hall, before closing the door and going to sit back down on the bed next to him.

She felt rather than saw Juice scooch his body over and then gently pat the place beside him.

Tara looked at him for a moment, taking in the pinched look at the corners of his eyes and the stitches trailing down the side of his face before nodding and saying “Okay. Just for a little while.” before carefully laying down next to him and feeling his arm carefully curl around her shoulder.

In the morning Tara was the one that ended up sneaking out of the hospital room before Juice woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Four points to anyone that noticed the casual Kozik mention, because I'm the devil.


	4. Chapter 4

Tara ended up visiting Juice every day while he was at the hospital.

As far as she could tell she was the only one that did.

She had been worried after the first night - a tumble of half formed excuses clamoring in the back of her throat as she tiptoed quietly through the front door of her house at eight AM like a teenager coming in after curfew, but the halls were silent and empty as she showered and changed and a note was taped to the fridge in Anita’s handwriting, explaining to Jax where the kids were if he got home before they did.

Turned out Anita had had nothing to worry about. The bed was made exactly how Tara had left it and the house had remained dark in her absence. Tara hadn’t been the only one that pulled an all nighter. The thought didn’t hurt her as much as it should have. She could still feel the dull ache of pain in her chest if she focused on it, the sickly swoop in her stomach and the dull roar of jealousy in her ears, but each of those sensations were overshadowed by the large swell of relief she felt in knowing she wouldn’t have to try and explain herself.

She had been smart, texting Anita once she felt Juices breath slip into a rhythmic lull; his arm still curled loosely over her shoulder, pulling her cheek along his bruised collarbone. It might have cost more than to let the boys spend the night with Gemma but Anita didn’t ask questions or betray confidences, and most importantly - Tara trusted her with her children.

Tara had told herself she wasn’t leaving because she didn’t want to wake him – that Juice needed rest when he could get it, but the truth was simpler and a lot more selfish.

She didn’t leave because she didn’t _want_ to leave.

It was reassuring, feeling his chest slowly rise and fall under her ear. Hearing the faint but steady thumping of his heart in his torso. Knowing that if no one in the club was looking out for him that at least she was.

She ignored the small whisper in the back of her head that said nothing about this could end well.

When Jax got home she didn’t ask him where he had been and he didn’t ask her about her visit to the club house. Neither of them wanted to know. If the sex was rougher than normal that night Tara didn’t comment on it. Instead she stared resolutely at the ceiling, trying to imagine what Abel’s face would look like on the ride out of town with Wendy in the driver’s seat and clenched her nails into her husband’s side until there were deep red welts where her fingers had been, turning his flesh a rosy pink.

After that first night she never stayed at the hospital for too long, but she’d stop by every day like clockwork - resolutely checking Juice’s chart and ignoring the suspicious glares people she used to work side by side with shot at her. Some days she’d bring the kids. Others she’d come alone. She always stopped by Margret’s office on the way out of the building though, never staying long but making sure to at least flash a grateful smile before she went on her way.

She ended up carting over things for Juice to do. Books of every gene to read because she wasn’t sure what he liked, food - his laptop. She even brought over one of Abel’s old Nintendo’s as a joke only to watch in amusement as Juice’s face lit up with a giant grin and then with resignation as he spent the next hour and a half beating every game she had thought to bring with her.

On days she brought Thomas and Abel they didn’t talk much. Their hands were too busy on the white covers of Juice’s bed, running hot wheels over dips and valleys in the blankets or building elaborate structures on the floor with Juice supervising from above.

The days the boys were in daycare were a little different though. Without really meaning to, Tara started asking about Juice’s life and telling him about hers in return. It wasn’t so shocking, she thought, when she found herself talking about Chicago.

When you had three hours to kill in an empty room with someone it became less of a question of what you talked about and more of a question of what you didn’t. 

Tara found she didn’t particularly like that she had to avoid things with Juice. She did enough of that at home. She learned quickly that it was better to head off anything that had to do with her trial than deal with the sickly feeling of guilt that lying by omission left in her stomach. After the first couple of times he mentioned it Tara asked him about the first thing that popped into her head instead – trying to move the conversation onto something innocuous.

She told herself she didn’t know why she asked about Juice’s crush the first time the question pushed past her lips. It was just a distraction. Something quick to get Juice away from his line of thought.

She ruthlessly pushed down the sinking sensation in her chest as she watched his warm brown eyes soften momentarily before he blushed and studiously looked down at the bed sheets.

She told herself she wasn’t disappointed when he smiled but wouldn’t answer any questions about her.

\- - - 

The second time she asked about it she studiously avoided thinking about her reasoning at all. If she needed an excuse she told herself it was because it was the only thing they had talked about so far that had made Juice blush. It made her curious. A big bad biker, being shy about his love life. And it was a good distraction.

When Juice figured out why she was asking about it he stopped asking her about the trial. He probably figured she was nervous – that she didn’t want to think about it. Tara would have appreciated it if it meant she didn’t have an excuse to keep asking.

When Tara no longer had had a reason to ask she still did anyways. She couldn’t help herself. It became a game. To see how much information she could weasel out of Juice before he rolled his eyes in exasperation and purposefully changed the subject.

Every day she’d think up new questions to ask. The trick was to make it vague enough that Juice was willing to answer but not so vague that she didn’t learn anything.

 

Tara never asked for her name though. She tried not to think about why she didn’t want to know.

“Is she a crow eater?” she asked the third morning in a row she spent at the hospital, hands idly flipping through the pages of a worn notebook that held all of her written testimony.

“Not even close,” Juice replied with a laugh.

“One of the girls from Diosa?” she asked, keeping her eyes glued casually on the papers in front of her.

“Definitely not.” Juice said with a snort.

Tara found herself quietly saying “good” with something that felt suspiciously close to satisfaction and then felt immediately guilty about it.

Lyla would have been a good fit for Juice.

\- - - 

“Why didn’t she ever visit you?” Tara asked the last day Juice was in the hospital, something that sounded a lot like reproach coloring her voice.

“Maybe you just keep missing her,” Juice teased. “Maybe she comes in after hours.”

He looked over at her with an unreadable expression when she frowned across at him before shaking his head and shrugging in kind of a hopeless manner as if to say ‘what can you do,’ standing up and pointing toward the door with his left crutch.

“After you doc,” he said with a smile and Tara knew the conversation was closed.

\- - - 

After Juice got home from the hospital it returned to pretty much business as usual during the day at Tara’s house with two minor altercations.

Now instead of curling up in the study Tara took her notes into the living room and ended up spending more time watching Juice get creakily up and down from the hardwood floor, chasing after wind-up toys and jumping jacks than reading.

At least once a day Tara would look up and say his name to get his attention before absentmindedly pointing to the two sticks leaning against the wall and returning to her notes. 

“Pretty sure those are there for a reason,” she’d say, nose deep in whatever research she was going over at the moment.

He’d wind up grinning unrepentantly back at her before dumping a squealing kid in her lap, making papers fly everywhere.

The second thing that changed was that the knowledge Juice was pining after someone made physical contact easier for Tara. She was married and he was obviously smittened. Even if she didn’t know the girl’s name she could see it on his face when she asked about her, clear as day. So what did it matter if she curled up against his side and read, or sprawled her feet over his lap while she typed away at her computer screen? It was safe. He wasn’t interested.

He was awkward about it at first, studiously avoiding her eyes and blushing down at the carpet, but soon he was the one initiating contact. Idly combing his fingers through her hair as she read, keeping his own gaze on the computer tucked in his lap.

He reminded her a little bit of David actually, back in high school.

It was one of these times - when the boys were asleep and Jax hadn’t come home yet, when Tara’s eyes were half lidded and her head was pillowed against Juice’s tricep, watching his illuminated hands move in the dim glow of the computer screen, fingers typing out things Tara couldn’t begin to understand; that she brought back up the subject that had been lurking in the back of her head since Juice had left the hospital.

“What’s she like?” Tara asked, burrowed a little closer - scooching her nose across the material of his T-shirt a couple times to get comfortable. “Your mystery girl I mean. Tell me about her.”

She felt Juice sigh rather than heard it.

“Why do you wanna know so bad?” he asked, his voice guarded.

Tara shrugged silently into his shoulder - remaining quiet for a minute before saying “I guess I just want to hear about people in love,” with a brittle smile.

The words slipped out of her mouth before she thought them though, each one landing heavy on the air; ringing truth into the small room.

She was grateful when Juice didn’t point out how conspicuously absent her husband had been the last couple of weeks.

“She’s strong.” Juice said, just when Tara had been sure he wasn’t going to answer at all.

“I didn’t notice it at first, but she’s strong. Hard maybe, in ways she shouldn’t have to be.” It was Juice’s turn to shrug. He paused for a moment, seeming to be gauging what he was willing to say and what he wasn’t. “She was kind to me right away. I think maybe that’s what made me notice her first. Not many people are automatically nice to a guy with head tattoos.”

Tara couldn’t see his face, but she imagined he was smiling.

Tara nodded, ruthlessly pushing down the small stab of jealousy that tried to prick her chest.

“So are you making any progress with her? Now that you’re all scarred up and dangerous I mean.” Tara said lightly into the silence, keeping her eyes trained on Juices hands (now paused over the laptop keys, twitching slightly as if he was fighting the urge to flee).

After a small pause he let out a self deprecating laugh. “Not the kind I’d like, but that’s probably for the best. Besides. She’s unavailable. Like - seriously not available.”

Tara angled her head back a step, craning to get a good look at Juice’s face before saying “You must love her a lot huh?” a subdued voice, fingers absentmindedly fiddling with a small hole in the knee of her worn out pajama bottoms.

“Yeah. I do.” Juice replied simply, staring at her for a second before patting her on the leg and standing up.

“Alright. Its past my curfew.” He said, giving her a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As he started walked towards the door Tara quickly reached out a hand, snagging the belt of his camo pants and forcing him to pause. “Hey – Juice,” she said, waiting until he turned around fully and she had caught his eye before continuing with, “You know anyone would be lucky to have you right?” in a sincere voice.

Juice gave her another smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, looking down at her for a moment before saying “Yeah” and gently reaching down a hand to disengage the grip she had on his pants.

"Sleep tight, Tara.” he whispered, bending over and reaching out the hand he had used to put her own back against the couch cushions to gently stroke her cheek. His fingers were there one second and gone the next, leaving a feather light imprint in their wake. Tara would have almost believed she imagined it if she hadn’t seen the way his jaw ticked, just once before he turned back around and continued down the hallway and out the front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jamie, the David Hale reference is for you. 
> 
> If you're Satan I'm the devils advocate.


	5. Chapter 5

The final date for Tara’s trial came slower and quicker than she could ever have imagined. She had been waiting for this day for months upon months, holding her breath through every push back – praying she had the strength to keep up the charade just a little bit longer, that she had the power of will to keep from cracking until she was sure her boys were out, but somehow the reality of it actually happening had seemed impossibly far away.

The weeks leading up to the trial passed quickly. Tara reviewed, but not as much as she had in the beginning. It had been pushed back so many times before she almost didn’t believe it would ever happen. That this would be the actual date. The final stage for months of carefully crafted plans. It felt like she would be stuck in this perpetual limbo forever, waiting on the edge of her seat for a drop that never quite came. But it was finally here and for all her designs, all of her distance – all of her control, Tara wasn’t prepared. One moment she was watching Juice lift Abel over his shoulder and race him across the yard, pretending he was an airplane stuck in a vertical descent and then suddenly it was trial morning and she was putting on outfits frantically in front of the mirror and ripping them back off again, asking herself why she hadn’t picked out something the night before furiously under her breath and wondering desperately why nothing she owned looked respectable enough.

She didn’t have time to think about what she was doing or the fact that there was no turning back when she called Lowen from the bottom court steps, heels clacking evenly against the hard stone and hands trembling. She had been so focused on getting to this point, on making it here – on lasting until the trail that she hadn’t really thought about how she would feel afterwards. She knew the reality. She knew what to expect. She had accepted the fact that her sons would probably end up graduating high school by the time she was released on parole as soon as she knew what she had to do, but the thought had always been an abstract one. Her reality hadn’t been part of the equation. Her sons were all that mattered. And they still were, but Tara couldn’t stop her hands from shaking as she looked up at those wide court doors or thinking ‘this is it,’ ‘and ‘I’ll never practice medicine again,’ and feeling the weight of everything she had done to get to this point settle hard on her heart.

“Did you file the paperwork?” she asked into the receiver of the phone clutched in her vibrating hand, her voice quiet as a whisper.

“At eight AM this morning,” Ally responded on the other end, sympathy dripping from the phone line like tar, threatening to swallow Tara whole. “Just like we talked about.”

She stopped walking abruptly, all the air blowing out of her lungs and her shoulders jerking forward as if she had been sucker punched. She paused in the shadow of the marble arch at the top of the stairs – taking a shaky breath before leaning back against one of the cold pillars. Her eyes closed tightly shut and she lowered the phone from her mouth, her face crumbling as her iron tight self control loosened in grief. The hand that wasn’t holding her cell found its way up to cover her trembling chin as she let out solitary sob that rattled through her chest, so quiet it could have been mistaken for a hitch in her breath.

She could feel people moving around her, the noise of bodies hustling back and forth out of the open court doors, but they were abstract sensations. Overshadowed by the rushing of blood in her ears.

The finality of what she was doing was apparent to her in a way it hadn’t been before. This was it. This was the last chapter of the play she had spent months perfecting. She stood silently, her back straight and her arms locked perfectly still; allowing herself a solitary minute to grieve the only person she had every truly loved, before trying to focus on getting oxygen back into her constricted lungs and slowly opening her eyes again, smoothing out her expression and cradling the phone back against her ear.

“Good,” she eventually replied, her voice devoid of emotion.

It was official. There was no going back - just like she had wanted.

Tara ruthlessly pushed the tiny wail in the back of her head that was screaming ‘what about when Jax was everything you wanted’ back down, her expression shuttered. What she was doing was necessary. There was no other way.

“I’ll meet you inside.”

If Ally noticed the long pause before her answer, she didn’t comment on it and Tara was grateful.

“Is he here?” came the gentle voice from the other side of the phone.

Tara didn’t ask who Ally was talking about.

“No. I told him I needed to do this alone.”

Ally didn’t respond, but Tara imagined her nodding on the other side of the line.

Tara didn’t tell her he hadn’t even fought it. That he had just looked at her sadly before he let his gaze drop down at the wooden floor under his feet, nodded, and said ‘yeah okay’ in a voice that ripped Tara open or how he had wrapped her in a tight embrace that felt like the only goodbye she was ever going to get. Or how when she was half way out the door she had to turn back and smile at him when he said ‘you know no jury is going to convict you right?’ and act like her heart wasn’t breaking inside her chest.

“Will he know by now?” she asked after a small lull in the conversation, ignoring the way her hand spasmed around the phone in her grip and how hard she had to work to keep her expression blank.

“I’m not sure” The lawyer replied, her voice kinder than Tara could handle. “He could be notified any time from when we put in the paperwork to as late as tomorrow night.”

This time Tara was the one that was nodding silently into the phone.

“We have a couple of hours before your trial starts,” Lowen continued. “I need to run some things down to the county clerk’s office… I know you said you needed to do this alone but –“

“Someone’s on their way” Tara replied, cutting her off mid sentence.

“Okay – well, good.” Her lawyer said after a startled pause. “Remember, twelve AM outside room 24. Don’t be late.”

“I won’t.” Tara said with finality and then added in a softer voice “Thank you Ally. I wouldn’t have gotten through this without you.” before hanging up the phone. 

She could see Wendy standing on the other side of the glass and hear a motorcycle rumbling in the distance as she slipped her cell inside the small bag that was slung over her shoulder and she knew for better or for worse she had done everything possible for her boys.

That knowledge strengthened her as she squared her shoulders and made the final few steps toward the threshold of the building that she had spent more mornings than not waking up sweating about for the last six months.

\- - - 

She gave Wendy a brief but tight hug in the court entrance before they pulled apart without speaking and made their separate ways into the recesses of the sterile government building. They had decided beforehand that it was safer if they weren’t seen together prior to the trail. Tara didn’t want to leave anything up to chance. Especially now – not when they were so close to achieving everything they had worked so hard for.

Tara allowed herself a solitary reassuring glance backwards before turning and heading deeper into the maze of white halls.

Wendy was going to make a good mom she thought, pride and sadness mixing together inside of her, making her guts churn sickly.

She hadn’t realized her breathing had sped up or that she was walking blindly towards her destination until she felt a large hand brace her shoulder and she was looking up into Juice’s warm brown eyes. If he hadn’t stopped her they would have collided.

“You made it on time” she said shakily after a startled pause, gently disentangling herself from his grip. She was too raw to have him that close right now. She felt like one of the wounds she used to spend so much careful attention on. A leaking heart or a perforated intestine - spread wide, open and gaping for the gallery of doctors above to see. She was worried she’d start bleeding over everything she touched.

“It’s a good thing I set two alarms,” he joked, face too pinched to be convincing. “It was touch and go there for a minute.”

She looked around so she wouldn’t have to look at his face, noticed a polished wooden bench to their right and jerked her head towards it in a silent invitation. She didn’t trust her voice not to betray her.

Juice nodded and stuffed his hands into the black slacks that hung off his hips. They were a size too large, but that’s not what made Tara stop and stare.

Now that she was looking properly Tara noticed what she hadn’t before. There was a crisp white button down where a plain black t-shirt usually hung. A black suit jacket where his cut normally was, long sleeves hiding the tattoos that dotted his skin. An awkwardly angled tie wrapped around his neck a degree too tight, pulling at his tan skin like a noose.

They clashed horribly with the Mohawk that was accented by his only visible tattoos, flowing black designs placed symmetrically on either side of his scalp.

Her reaction must have been obvious because Juice said “I was going to grow out my hair to cover them up, but I didn’t think of it in time” in an apologetic voice, shoulders hunched awkwardly and chin tucked down as if he was expecting a reprimand.

“You look great Juice,” Tara said, and found that she meant it.

Nothing he was wearing matched - the jacket was rumpled and all of his clothes were either a shade too loose or a shade too tight, like he had borrowed each one of them from a different person or didn’t bother to try them on in the store before he took them home, but ‘genuine attempt’ was screaming out of every article of clothing he had on his back.

Tara’s face broke into a smile as she pulled him close and then gently loosened his tie, pulling it straight against his Adams apple and then dusting imaginary lint off his shoulder. “And I like the Mohawk just how it is.”

Juice’s expression was soft and the smile he gave her in return was devastating.

“Thanks, doc.”

Tara could see the miniscule laughing lines around the corners of his eyes, faint but present, even after the last six months and suddenly realized how close they were standing and took a hurried step back, sitting abruptly on the bench that they had some how made to, even if Tara had no recollection of how.

Juice sat down beside her, feet planted firmly on the ground and his elbows braced against his knees with his hands folded together between them, one leg jiggling quickly to an invisible beat – the only tell that he was nervous as she was.

They sat in silence for an undefined period of time, both looking blankly at the wall across from them and the people that walked quickly in and out of their field of vision. They could have sat like that for ten minutes, or they could have been there closer to an hour. Tara wasn’t sure how long her unfocused eyes looked over the dull painting that was hanging slightly crookedly on the opposite wall, displaying modern art in all its glory before Juice cleared his throat awkwardly and said “Jax isn’t coming?” into the muted buzz of the hallway.

Tara looked over at his profile, the way his head was bowed slightly, his eyes focused intently on his interlocking fingers, shoulders curled together as if he was trying to take up as little space as possible.

“No,” she replied quietly, looking back down at her own hands, pressed solidly against her thighs, leaving no room for her fingers to tremble. She let the silence stretch, struggling to find words that weren’t a lie but weren’t the truth either.

Eventually she settled for as much as the truth as she could give.

“I asked him not to be.” She paused and cleared her throat before adding “I didn’t want people to see me like this.”

“I can g-”

Tara looked over in time to see Juice make a half aborted hand gesture towards the general direction they had both come from.

“No.” She said quickly, hand darting out and grabbing the side of his shirt. “Stay.” She paused for a fraction of a second before adding in a softer voice, “I want you to stay. Please.”

She looked down at the fingers that were fisted tightly in the black material of his jacket in shock, willing her hands to uncurl.

“You aren’t people.” She finally said into the silence, letting go of his suit but keeping her shaking fingers pressed against the smooth wood of the bench, tips just brushing the material of his pants leg.

Juice turned so he was half facing her and Tara noticed his shoes for the first time, ink black and gleaming – the exact opposite of anything she’d ever seen him in. She didn’t know why that was the detail that stuck with her, but the fact that he’d polished his shoes because he was going to a court house to support her, when she knew if he was going for himself he would be wearing worn out boots made her feel like she was drowning.

Juice looked down at her hand, face unreadable before he quietly asked “Jax is people?”

The words were abstract and messy but Tara knew exactly what he meant. She stared down at those fucking polished dress shoes, gleaming with a few tiny scuffs on them from where she was sure he had hit them on the asphalt as he stopped his bike on the way to the court and started laughing. Just a small chuckle at first. Barely discernible. But then she was laughing until she couldn’t stop. Loud and painfully, hysteria making her voice unrecognizable. Her whole body shook with laughter. She laughed until she started sobbing.

She could feel Juices arms around her, turning her, wrapping her into a little ball and pulling her close to his chest. She could feel the fabric of his shirt smashed against her face and the small, soothing circles he was rubbing into her back - hesitantly, like no one had ever taught him how to comfort someone before. She was gasping for air, laughter was clogging her throat but she couldn’t stop.

“I’m getting a divorce,” she said, laughter choking the words and making her throat raw.

And suddenly, just like that – the hysteria was gone. “I’m getting a divorce,” she repeated, her voice hoarse and her head bowed. She could feel silent tears sliding slowly down her face, but it didn’t feel like she was actually present. She was an observer, watching every lie she had told for the last half a year implode around her.

“I’m divorcing Jackson,” she repeated for the third time, numb disbelief seeping through the shock that was coating her emotions like plastic wrap. She’d finally said it out loud. She’d finally told someone besides her lawyer. It was real. The divorce papers were filed. She was about to go into that court room and probably never see anyone from her old life again, and she’d finally told someone. She let out a shaky laugh, more nerves than hysteria now and quickly scrubbed the tears that were tracking down her face away. “I haven’t told anyone that yet. I’m getting a divorce.” She repeated in wonder.

Tara realized then that Juice hadn’t said anything yet and that his grip had gone from tentative to painful. Hesitating, she pulled back, her face shuttering closed. “Juice?” she said quietly, carefully pulling herself away from him.

“Jax is divorcing you because you’re on trial for assisted murder?” Juice said into the cold court room air, his voice deadly quiet, rage making his eyes go blank.

“No,” Tara said hurriedly, raising both of her hands palm up quickly, as if the gesture would convey the truth in her words, unable to stop the spike of fear that slid down her spine. With those eyes it was easy to understand exactly why Juice fit in with an outlaw criminal organization. “ _No_.” she repeated.

She paused and let out a shaky breath, sliding back and unconsciously straightening her spine. “He doesn’t know yet.” She said, her eyes focused intently on the hands that were gripped together in her lap. “I filed today.”

There was a heavy silence where Tara didn’t look up from where she was boring a hole with her eyes into the almost invisible freckle on her thumb.

She heard Juice let out an unsteady huff of air before saying “Oh,” the anger draining from his voice.

“I haven’t told anyone else.” Tara said, still not looking at him.

“You’re doing it because of the trial?” Juice asked in a strained tone after an even longer pause.

Tara hesitated for a fraction of a second before saying “The trial doesn’t matter. Thomas and Abel are getting out. Out of the life, out of Charming – out of _everything_.”

She let out a shaky breath before saying in a brittle voice “I’m giving them something better than this” and waved her hand, as if to convey everything the court house represented.

“Why are you telling me this?” Juice asked, and Tara raised her eyes to meet his for the first time since she had started laughing.

“I’m going to Jail Juice.” She responded, her voice and hands steady. She ignored the small noise of protest he made, talking over him before it could form into words “I’m going to jail and I’m not going to see my kids grow up. I’m not going to be there to watch Abel learn how to hit a ball or pick up his first prom date. I’m not going to be there to see Thomas take his first steps or graduate kindergarten. I’m not going to be there for any of it. And that’s okay,” silencing his objection with a raised finger she continued “and that’s okay because I know they’re going to be somewhere safe. Without a father who loves them but not enough to leave the life. With a mother who I know will protect them.” She let out a shuddering breath, eyes still locked on his. “I’m telling you because you’re the only friend I have right now and because after those doors close I’m probably not going to see you again. And because I’m so tired of lying. I’m so tired of having to keep things from people. I’m so tired of being everything I hate, and it’s almost over. I’m telling you because once those doors close it won’t matter anymore.” 

Juice stared at her, eyes pinched at the corners, looking more serious than Tara ever remembered seeing him.

“I know you’re in the life too, and that he’s your brother but you have to see this is the best thing for them.” She added quietly, gripping her hands into the flesh of her thighs with bruising strength. “No one should grow up in this. No one should have to go through what you’ve been through.”

Her eyes tracked unconsciously to the shoulder she had pulled the bullet from, imagining the still pink scar that was hiding under the smooth material of his suit jacket.

When the silence went on too long for her to bear she said “What are you thinking?” in a muted voice, afraid to look back up into his face.

“I was just thinking I wish my mom had been half as strong as you.” He said quietly.

When she looked up he was staring down at his hands.

She was throwing her arms around him before she was conscious of what she was doing, laughing and whispering “Thank you, thank you, thank you” over and over again into his shoulder. She couldn’t articulate what she was thanking him for. Explaining herself and having another human being actually get it, actually understand why she was doing what she was doing and support her was more important than she could put into words.

“I need to te–” she heard Juice start to say before a loud sound rang in the distance. “Was that the church bell?” She asked distractedly, talking over whatever his question had been and jumping to her feet. “What time is it?”

Juice pulled out one of the ridiculous burner phones they all carried from the inside of his jacket and flipped it open “Twelve?” he said, his voice raising up in concern.

“Shit.” Tara said succinctly and started hurrying down the hall.

“You know no Jury is going to convict you right?” Juice said loudly at her retreating back, standing with his shoulders hunched next to the bench they had both been sitting on.

She turned back for a millisecond and let out a smile before saying, “You know, when you say it, I almost believe it,” turning and continuing towards the court room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm officially the worst at updating. I love you all for joining me on this floating crack ship out in the open ocean and leaving kudos and comments, your feedback is 100 percent what got this chapter written. I appreciate each and every one of you. 
> 
> I'm really aiming for another chapter of this sometime next week, but just in case I'm a huge failure again (which is pretty likely) you should hit the subscribe button (only if you want to of course) so you know when I update because it's probably never going to be on a fixed schedule.
> 
> I tried really hard to make things in character in this chapter, but the further we get into crackship territory the more I worry I'm not doing Tara or Juice justice. 
> 
> Stella, Theo in a suit is for you. 
> 
> As always, feedback - both negative and positive, is greatly appreciated.


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